ToyHammer Omake Collection
by RougePsyker
Summary: A collection of Omake from ToyHammer, these stories just use the characters and setting, but not the plot of the storyline. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT! Reviews and critiques will be much appreciated and the latter, rewarded!
1. Christmas 40,000

_**Christmas Special Omake~!**_

_**Just a few episodes of what happened during Christmas for Michael and the other Warhammer 40,000 characters in the story 'ToyHammer'. This is the promised Omake Stories, so if you're looking for more Omake from the ToyHammer 40k story, look here, I won't be posting Omake at the ToyHammer 40k story anymore. Each chapter is independent of the main storyline and of each other unless otherwise noted.**_

**Thought for the Day**; _"Jingle bells, jingle bells_, CRUSH THOSE TRAITORS TO THE GROUND!"

* * *

"Good morning, Governor Michael." The soft voice of Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth made me open my eyes a crack. As always, she was dressed in her parchment brown robes, with a green sash wrapped around her torso, its fabric emblazoned with the pillar-and-eye insignia of the Scholastica Psykana. Her two-inch long staff carried a similar symbol, with an eagle perched on top, poised to fly. The sound of her melodic voice was marred, however, by the constant _beep beep beep_ of my alarm clock.

I turned to face the electronic offender, but laziness and sleep tired me down, so I only managed to get far as the ceiling, which still sported the flash-burn of lascannon misses. It had burned a neat hole just above my bed, and if anything happened in the night it was enough reason to send a small trickle of black dust down onto my face. My mind stirred around for the date. I remembered yesterday... it was the 24th of December today... huh. The little alarm clock that resided on my bedside table continue to put out its monotone beeps as it hit 6:31 am. I grumbled softly in my half-sleep, and gave the 'Sleep' button a slap.

"Owch!" The flaming torch/brazier thingies that decorated the top of Canoness Samisha Ludmilla's power pack bit into my palm, as well as giving them a good singe. The beeping stopped as I used a female warrior to press down on the snooze button, but soon enough I was having to deal with a much more violent kind of alarm.

"What in the God Emperor's name was that about!" Samisha raged as she hefted her pistol-sized flamethrower. I kid you not, that thing was pretty much a tube, lighter and fuel supply, which was mini-fist sized tank that could shoot out at maybe six-inch ranges. That weapon was truly representative of the woman that wielded it: Volatile contents under pressure.

"Ah... Samisha... should you really have been sitting on the 'off' button for the alarm?" I quirked an eyebrow at her.

"It was?" The woman stood up, and made herself busy with looking down at the table-sized button that she had been sitting on, and by result of our little impact had also impressed slightly with her armor skirt. Brushing herself down, she quickly made her way off my alarm clock.

"y34, i7 w4z, g1rl13! U n0 d155 d4 m4ch1n3z!" [Yeah, it was, girlie! Don't disrespect the machine!]

The rising intonation, the l337... it could only have been c0gb01. I turned to see the twitching form, reminiscent of a mechanical squid in red robes, which was right now making its way across the aforementioned table. Behind and around them, various other characters were casually wandering around my room, weapons at the ready. Oh bugger. Usually, they stayed out of my room in a vestige of respect in the way of privacy, but now...

"... What's happened?" I asked, grumbling out of bed. "Orks? Eldar?"

"Nothing, mon-keigh, all is quiet on the home front. Although I do note that your neighbors are much more active today... they are leaving, mon-keigh. Could it be something you haven't told us?"

"Huh? Oh, its just that it's Christmas Eve, is all." I muttered, before regretting it instantly. These guys had a curiosity that was practically insatiable.

The Imperium wanted to find out more about what this place was, since this planet was what would eventually become Holy Terra, for them it was the center of their faith, so it was understandable. Of course, the Adeptus Mechanicus had their own obsessions, and were clocking up quite the hours on my machines. I think they would break them sooner or later, I might want to bring Luke (a tech-savvy friend of Vincent's) over to have a check on my computer.

The Orks, of course and as always, wanted something new to fight, whether it be willing to fight back or not. Their philosophy of anything bigger than them. The resulting mess usually got me in a scrape with the cops, although to be honest, Vincent's antics with fireworks earlier on this year had given us more than enough excuse to do crazy things and get – more or less – away with any unbelievable explanations.

The Eldar were as mysterious as ever, though, their curiosities just as aloof and distant as their own selves. I wondered often, how they managed to do this kind of thing. Honestly, I don't think I wanted to know the thought processes of the Eldar. It might be the same as some certain highschool 'goddesses', and I knew what she was like.

"I don't believe we are as confusing as that, mon-keigh."

Stop reading my mind, dammit!

"So... do explain this 'Christmas Eve' that you speak of." The Imperial Guard's senior pastor – the chainsaw (read: An equivalent to a 6 foot chainsaw designed to cut through _tanks, _known as an _eviscerator_)wielding Jeremiah, aptly named the Laughing Priest for his laid-back attitude in battle and when in good company.

"... huh?"

"Eve suggests something is about to happen, does it not?" Now came the voice of Librarian Vasili. "A Christmas... do explain what it is, Michael."

"Well... its about..."

I paused. _What was Christmas about?_ Sure, there was the obvious religious overtones, of the birth of Jesus Christ and his fate as the Messiah and the Savior of Mankind, and there were also the new meanings, of giving presents and of cake and turkey and Santa Claus with his reindeer and...

"I see your mind is clouded, Michael." The black-robed figure of Yoza mused, sitting on a nearby desk. I took a quick look around me as he spoke. "Christmas is a word of many meanings, it seems."

I finished counting. There were more than three dozen of the Warhammer universe's most deadly warriors sitting around and having a chat to me about Christmas.

"Will you guys just stop appearing out of bloody nowhere!" I half-screamed.

- - + _The Study_, 9:00am + - -

"Christmas is a celebration?" Father Jeremiah quizzed. "Of what?"

"Various things, nowdays." Vincent answered, sitting at my chair. I had invited this info-obsessed friend of mine over after I had gotten some breakfast into my stomach, as well as those of the nearly 400 strong army running around in my house. Luckily, it was a very small scale army, and a grain of rice was equivalent to a loaf of bread for most. The orks, it seemed, were insatiable.

"What do you mean by that, Vincent?" Tau Ethereal 'Aun'ui' asked. He, alone among the rest of the races, had never gave me his given name, only his rank in the Tau Caste System, which indicated him at the rank roughly equivalent to a Corporal or Sergeant... I believe it had something to do about his own belief in The Greater Good or something, that his individual identity was not worth mentioning when it came to that singular purpose that drove the Tau.

"Originally, Christmas was the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, a major figure for the Christian faith." He tapped through my computer, ignoring the huge number of URLs leading to different CounterStrike: Source servers. In the end, he had a large image of

"I see... '_Christ_-ian' here indicates that he is central to the faith, is he not? What did he do?"

"He is a person of divine conception, known as the Son of God for Christians, and among the many miracles he worked in Biblical times, he also sacrificed himself to atone for our sins."

"Uhh... how'd 'e dun dat, four-eyes?" Madork Gunna asked.

Vincent drew a crude picture of the Christian cross, and showed it to the assembled Warhammer 40,000 denizens. I looked on as well as he began to explain, picking up a Guardsman – I learned later that his name was Colonel Jimnaeus Angruss, of the logistics corps - to show how it was done.

"He was crucified on a Cross like this one... I won't go into details, but it involved hands and feet being nailed to a wooden structure, and commonly this would lead to suffocation and death because of internal trauma collapsing the ribcage and the lungs."

He had a very large interest in the gorier bits of history. It was the most interesting parts, he told me.

The festive atmosphere of the Christmas celebrations outside seemed to blunt the point of this lesson. Vincent sighed, and cupped his face in between his hands.

"Oh, but that's celebrated in Easter, Christmas is all about beginnings." He smiled wryly as a group of merry neighbors walked past the window. Across the street, Viaan – the kid from across the road, who I sometimes taught how to draw – grinned back at us as he shoveled snow into a wall, getting ready for our annual across-the-street snowball fight. Danica, his sister, threw a preemptive ball, which splashed in my half of the road.

Vincent's ramblings brought me back to the conversation at hand. I quickly sent a gesture of apology as I turned away from the window.

"But as well as that, it is the celebration of our friends and family, where we show appreciation for their relationships by sending each other cards and presents."

"Uh... Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"You forgetting someone?"

I pointed at Angruss, who was rather weakly trying to make himself more mobile as he struggled within Vincent's grasp.

"Oh."

- - + _The Attic, _10:00am + - -

The attic was a lot more clean now that the Sisters had moved in, and I helped make sure of that every few days or so.

"Michael... is this truly embarrassing..."

"I'm sorry, Samisha, but I really couldn't resist..." Alice called out from behind the 'changing room'. She was apparently tying up a Sister of Battle's ribbon-belt.

Samisha twisted the Santa hat around between her fingers. She was standing there, resplendent in a Ms. Claus outfit. Her costume had been custom-made for her by Alice, who was really getting into this. She was a designer for a small boutique in the central mall area, and had absolutely loved having miniature models for her more expensive projects.

The canoness of the Sisters of Battle had a costume made of red fabric and trimmed with white, that came down to her knees. Her long, slender legs were wrapped in red stockings (I'm sure there was someone to help Alice this, there were no traces of stitches) and a pair of white leather boots came up to her calves. She looked like a red satin bell, or a very angry nun with a pistol-flamer.

"Uh... you look nice, Samisha..." The other Sororitas were dressed in similar clothes, showing the evolution of the design. A few were – like Samisha – wearing plain red costumes. Others were more decorated; some had ribbon-bows placed on their costumes, such as with Meliya, who had one as her belt. I chuckled to myself as I saw that her face was as bright red as her dress as she sat down beside a box of old toys, talking to Sohm. The other Sororitas which I could see had bells on them, mostly as a replacement for the white pom-pom at the tip of their hats, little angel wings (a _very_ popular accessory, especially among the press-ganged Seraphim, it seems). Behind them, Alice chatted away with a pair of other Sororitas, talking to them about the design. She too was dressed in a Ms. Claus costume, which came down to her knees as well.

From somewhere, a Sister Repentia stepped from the changing rooms, her usual parchment clothes replaced by what can only be described as a candy cane cosplay. Her slim body was wrapped in overlapping ribbons of crimson and white. She looked at the Canoness, and then squeaked as she saw the rest of us, before diving for cover. The other Sisters of Battle were alarmed by the sudden cry, and whipped out their various weapons, ranging from rocket-propelled-grenade launchers to flamethrowers.

Oh jeeze... an _army_ of Miss Clauses...

I looked at the reactions from the male characters, and almost snorted when I saw the unshakeable Commissar Tomas Sturm, who was literally trying to fix his jaw back into his mouth as he tried to recover from seeing his comrade, the Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth dancing gleefully around in her new costume, a color-inverted version of the Miss Claus costume. Arms spread out for balance, she danced gracefully from foot to foot, twirling around as if dancing.

Justicar Amadeus suddenly gave a groan of spiritual agony as another figure came into view.

"For the last time, Silverite. Put. The hat. Away."

"Aww, but... c'mon, I already took off my other hat for you!"

I turned to see a rather flushed Sororitas Seraphim, complete with angel wings and Miss Claus suit, standing rather woozily by the side of the ever unorthodox Grey Knight Silverite, his helmet now topped by the white fluffy crown and red pointy bits of his new hat. The Justicar's dark-brown skin was livid with rage. He kind of looked like a bust carved from chocolate infused with raspberries.

"But that doesn't count!"

"Does too!"

"DOES! NOT! COUNT!"

"..." Vincent and I – plus the rest of the present Warhammer 40,000 characters and Alice – stared in shock and disbelief. Alice helpfully reached out and pushed my jaw shut. Two of the Grey Knights, among the greatest of the servants of the Emperor, bickering like little elementary kids?

Amadeus made a grab for Silverite's hat. The Justicar missed, tripped, and was treated with a face full of cherry-red blouse, which belonged to the aforementioned Seraphim. Both tumbled to the ground, although thankfully the Justicar managed to stop himself before his heavy armor crushed the Sister of Battle.

Samisha and a half-dozen Seraphim were on site immediately as the Justicar tried to extricate his many decorations from the extensive lacework of his impromptu crash-mat.

"Well, the only way we can top that is if we grab some Eldar and make them wear these costumes."

Silverite was now fending off a half-dozen still-armored Sisters as he cheekily avoided their grabs, sometimes slapping a humorously carved purity seal onto their armor (it was a crude smiley face). The Tau Shield Drone (which had his hat) was spinning around above him, chattering and beeping excitedly.

"Stop giving me ideas, Vince. Even good ones."

Space Marine (of the Salamanders) Mas L Jansock shook the ground with his vox-enhanced voice.

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THESE FRAKKING ARGUMENTS IN THIS FRAKKING ATTIC!" And hefted his multi-melta, which dislodged the santa hat from his dark-skinned head.

I pulled Alice from the line of fire, and the three Earth scale humans sat back as disorder ensued.

"... Hey, Alice! You make those costumes for any of the Eldar?"

- - + _Eldar Base_, 12:46pm + - -

"You will die, Mon-keigh, do you hear me! The Warp shall freeze over and be still and your stars will turn to dust and die long before I wear that costume!"

I was experiencing gut-busting laughter at the mere thought of Zara wearing a rather racy Miss Santa Claus outfit, which apparently she could see the mental image of it. The Eldar woman's helmet-less face blushed to a bright red as she did.

Normally, I had the mental presence to at least obscure my thoughts, which wasn't hard when you were at least aware of the dangers, but total denial of mind-reading could only be achieved by either having one of a variety of mutations such as being a Pariah, or by having no brain like some . Since, I was neither of the above, I had to resort to the fact that my mind was usually in a jumble when I was laughing my ass off.

"STOP LAUGHING, MON-KEIGH~!"

Vincent squeaked. "She's gonna use Mind War!"

The white void was somewhat familiar to me. I stood up from where I had landed face-down, and began to walk about.

A screech bounced off the nonexistant walls of the space. The scream of a woman in terror. I sighed, and began the short jog through the porcelain mansion that had formed around me. The place was neither Eldar nor Human, but I found my way through it easily enough.

"Who'se there?" A weak voice croaked

I peeked around the corner, to see a full-scale Zara, sitting in the corner with a very suggestive costume. It was a simple tube of red fabric, with white trimming. Simple black shoes and the typical santa hat completed the costume. She looked like a young girl ready for a Christmas party, were it not for the rather insecure vibes that came from her. Curled up in the corner, she had her knees drawn to her chin, and her head buried in her arms.

Eldar fostered and maintained multiple personalities over their long lifetimes, and the face they wore in front of friends and the faces they presented to enemies were totally different. It also served to save them from the trap of becoming too emotional and being consumed by 'She who Thirsts', by splitting their emotional attention to other ventures.

Yoza's lesson taught me something else: These personalities literally split when in a mindscape.

"Zara?" I asked, bewildered. This one in front of me was most definitely a part of Zara, her features identical yet completely different as she lifted her face. The black haired Farseer was much younger-looking now, almost as if in her late teens. The personification of all her insecurities was sniffling as I sat down beside her.

"Zara... how did you get into that costume, anyway?"

"I... I-I... I don't know... I just..." She hiccuped, and began to break down again. Wow. This caught me completely off guard. Such a vulnerable girl. Quite unlike the stoic if rather opinionated and outright violent Farseer I had seen before. I pulled myself closer, and was again surprised as didn't give me a biting remark or... anything. Just sniff sniff and a hiccup. I patted her shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

"Its okay, its okay... look, I'm sorry for saying those things to you..."

The splinter of Zara's personality snuggled closer, tucking her head between my neck and shoulder. It was a really sweet gesture, and I couldn't help but place my arm around her. So, Zara wasn't quite such a mean bitch as I thought she was... interesting. I reminded myself to treat her a little more gently from now on, to see if she could show her more friendly side, if it existed. I looked at her again, and realized that the soft whistling sound that I was hearing was coming from her, and that she was asleep. I chuckled as I looked on. Her sleeping face was so peaceful. Smiling to myself, I idly stroked her hair, pushing the ebony strands from her face.

A door opened, I turned around.

Three Zaras stood behind me. I almost lost control of my bodily functions. The lower digestive area, specifically.

"Mon keigh, I do dearly hope..." A short haired version wearing the armor of a Howling Banshee whispered.

"... that you have not been taking..." Another said, hefting the shuriken pistol and staff of a Warlock

"... _ADVANTAGE OF MY OTHER SELF_." Said the third. Her voice was like lead slabs falling down onto a marble floor.

I was ghostly white as I managed to drag my eyes to confirm the thing I was seeing, to see that the third was a red-skinned, lava veined monstrosity. Her eyes and mouth glowed with amber fire as she spoke.

Oh. Shit.

"L-l-look, its not what it looks like!"

Three voices joined together in concert.

"DIE!"

- - + Ork Encampment, 5:29pm + - -

"Boyz, ge' up, ge' up! Da Big Boss iz 'ere!"

I sat on the oil drum that had become their reservoir for water, since I was tired of them 'tapping' (to be exact, blasting holes in) the water pipes that already existed. Seriously, the hot water pipe and the explosive sewerage incidents were never to be repeated ever again.

My brain still hurt. From what, I do not know. I vaguely remembered it being connected to Zara, though. Later on that night, I would be haunted by an army of Zaras. I sipped the glass of water I had brought down with me, and looked on at the greenskins.

The Orks managed to pull off a parody of Imperial parade as I looked on, but then again it was a simple parody; their 'companies' were mostly circular as the orks just bunched up around the Nobs that were arranged in a vaguely grid-like manner. I looked on as Nob groups 2-3 (second row, third from the front) and 3-3 (same, except they were the third row) began to brawl with each other.

I reached out to catch Madork Gunna before he could join in, but alas, the rest of the Orks quickly fell, jumped and Waaagh!'d in. The Flashgitz Big Nob was waving his six-barreled machinegun(s?) around as I held him by his crude Bosspole, his rough, guttural voice (which – if full scale – would probably have reduced many of my bones to jelly) had been reduced to pleading me to allow him to join the battle, albeit 'pleading' in Ork terms really meant getting someone to do something without harming them or threatening to do so.

"WE'Z MISSIN OUT ON DA FUN STUFF, YA MIKKY!"

I sighed. "What... the... hell." I reached for the doorway, and hefted the 'BIG RED III' (The other two of my extinguishers were stored in the kitchen and by my bedroom doorway, respectively for I and II) and gave the Ork horde a liberal blast of the CO2.

"Aww, zoggit. Y'gits never let me 'ave any fun." Madork grumbled, hefting his big choppa.

"For the love of... can't you guys stop fighting for... will you just..." My brain caught up with my mouth, tripped it up and gave it a good kick. "Well... never mind..."

Hell, these guys couldn't even _sleep_ in peace. I sleep with earplugs these days just because of the snoring.

"Alright, alright... so why did you call me down here?"

"We'ze got somethin' for ya, boss! Dat four-eyez oommie waz tellin us 'bout krissy-mas, soz wez gon 'n made'z ya sumthin'."

Something was brought forward. It was hard to describe, as I think there are few words in the English language to describe the mishmash of bizarre materials and machinery before me. There might be on in Eldar, though. They're assholes like that.

Vincent slapped himself in the face once, and stopped the Ork from trying a second try. He blinked a few times, pulled of his glasses, cleaned them _very_ thoroughly, and then looked again.

"What the fuck is that... _thing_!"

Ah, that's a good word for it.

_**Well, hope you enjoyed the Christmas Special~! I'll have the next chapter up sometime soon. As always, reviews and critiques will be most appreciated. Comprehensive critiques can cause cameos! Also, a new forum for anyone with omake ideas has been posted up in my forum, please check it out.**_


	2. Ordo Vermin

"... You. Are. Joking."

Zara's plasma-hot gaze literally seared my soul, and I instinctively flinched away from the very aggravated spear-wielding space elf sorceress." Mon-keigh, of all the stupid things that has come out of your cavernous mouth, this has to take the _lysse leyreth._"

The other leaders of the miniaturized warriors – Space Marine Commander Eizak, Inquisitor Danilov of the Ordo Malleus, Justicar Amadeus of the Grey Knights, Canoness Samisha Ludmilla of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, General Ulrich Faust of the Cadian 918th, Regimental Commissar Tomas Sturmm, Sanctioned Psyker Ishabeth, Father Jeremiah Bennedict, Shas'El Firestrike, Aun'ui, and the two-dozen Eldar Exarches that followed behind the Farseer (that was quite a list) -

"Lisa Lereth? Who is that?" Sohm Vekt was poring over his dataslate in frustration.

"Sweet-bread... it translates to 'cake' in your language, I believe." The Eldar Warlock named Yoza calmly answered. Talk about mood swings.

"Oh. Then why didn't Farseer Zara say 'cake' in the first place?"

Two blank faces – one of a beautiful psychotic psychic warrior and the other of a plain faced interpreter conscripted into a soldier – stared at each other for a moment as the more rowdy Guardsmen roared with laughter.

"... Back on subject. Mon-keigh, are you belittling my warriors?"

"N-no, I'm not. Look, I'm running out of money for food, and... well... yeah. You guys are the main reason for it."

"Before Gue'vesa'O Mi'kel is... er... attacked. Can you please clarify exactly _what_ we have to do for this... venture?"

"Hunt down rats and other crawly things... y'know... the stuff a regular exterminator does. Except for you guys, rats and mice would be pretty much... hunting grade stuff. Even a cockroach would be the size of a surfboard for you guys."

"Surfboard, Governor Michael?" Commissar Tomas arched an eyebrow, no doubt wondering what the hell was a surfboard.

"A large, flat board used for recreational sports." I replied. Recently, I've had to stop using 'local' words. Words like 'fun' tended to have different meanings among these guys: For an Imperial Hellhound tanker, it meant setting things on fire. Others found their solace in sleep or in socializing. Space Marines found their peace of mind in meditation and in maintaining their weapons. The Nuns with Guns had theirs in choirs and in meditation. Eldar in their crafts, music and – for many – dance: gentle curves and thought-provoking artwork, fluid dances and delicate, enchanting music that put the best of human artisans to shame. For the Tau... err... best not to get onto that subject too much. For such a community based society, they enjoyed their time alone a little too much.

"I see, and how big are these... surfboards?"

"For me? Most are taller than I am."

Among the more imaginative of the miniaturized warriors, this news was met with some enthusiasm.

"So therefore, the 'pests' that you'll be tackling would be the size of hunted animals. This has got a few advantages: One; it'll get us money for food." I ticked off one finger. "Two; you guys can let off some steam, since you'll be killing things the size of small elephants when you find rats." Finger two ticked off. "And three, it'll get you guys to be able to explore somewhat, since we'll be going to other places if you do take the job." I held up the three ticked off fingers.

The assembled leaders looked at each other, their helmeted faces passive as they looked from one to another, in silent conference.

- - - - -

The door 'ahem'd and there was a knocking sound.

"Its open." Buck grumbled, not looking up from the not-so-small mountain of paperwork inside of his room.

"Hey, Buck. We got ourselves a rookie coming in today." A flop of papers stirred the grizzled veteran of vermin extermination.

Great. More paperwork. The man got his socked feet off the table and began to look through the various folders. Requisition of chemicals, property modification... who ever knew that running a simple business in clearing houses of vermin to be so intensive with paperwork? If he had known this was going to happen, he would have been happier off with the police or something. At least it was _fun_.

"Alright, Dutch, so what's he like?"

"Seems like an alright guy, I say. Nothing much to him, really." Dutch scratched the stubble on his chin. "Used to be an artist, he said. Gonna have a nasty surprise when he gets there, I think."

"We all get nasty surprises on the first day." Was Buck's clipped answer. He picked up a file, and flipped through it. "Send him over to this one 'ere, lets see if he's got any guts to him. Somethings been bugging Jenkins here, he can't seem to get rid of the rats, they keep comin' back."

"Alright, I'll get the rookie a van, then I'll just drop in on him after an hour, show him the ropes or pick up what's left."

"Just don't let him run around like that Adam we had last week. The guy almost burnt down half the building we sent him to."

"... sure."

"'an if he survives Round 1, roger says we'll need two crews to take care of this... le's see... says its a termite infestation out in the 'urbs."

"A'right, Buck. I'll get him a van and we'll be right on it."

- - - - -

"Ugh... the smell is atrocious..."

"Just turn on your atmospheric filters, Brother Jerrus. This shouldn't be different from cleaning out that Nurgle infestation on Primunda VII."

"Or that Space Hulk off Belaria. Remember that, Brother Alrus?"

"Yes. Now never mention that stinking, festering slime ball again, unless you wish for me to repeat that incident on Delfis Prime."

There was a few chuckles over the vox. I smiled as well, thankful that the Adeptus Mechanicus had finally re-wired that Bluetooth headset that I had picked up to tap into their vox channels. And with a few more modifications to the blessed Tooth-of-Blue, I could speak with most of the miniature armies.

And listen. Before, these guys had been faceless armies with only their leaders having names and personalities. Now I listened to a whole new depth of voices and names, people and places. The Imperial Guardsmen were the most colorful, with their mashup regiments and their very irate officers. I had spent many hours talking and listening to the Guardsmen, of their tales of foolish officers and their own non-lethal mistakes. I had never known

"Concentrate, guys. We have a job to do out here... lets focus and get it done quickly, alright? Chaplain Morteus, you're next, then we're moving on to the bathroom for the Stealthsuits and Pathfinders."

I sat down beside the crack in the wall, crowbar in hand. I was widening the gap used by the rats to allow Terminators access into the labyrinth of inner walls.

The black-armored Chaplain strode forward to join the Terminators inside, his chainsword and Rosarius buzzing with energy. The fighting priest seemed set on claiming another rat's head. I chuckled, and eased the crowbar forward, letting the wall panel stretch closed again.

"Oh... and Brother Alrus?" I queried over the comms.

"Yes, Michael?"

"What happened on Delfis Prime?"

"Brother Jerrus has a cybernetic arm." Was the cryptic answer.

"Alright." I turned to the command-and-control area, where we had set up inside of a toolbox. All the communications equipment of the various races were co-ordinated here. General Ulrich Faust was 'Organizer' of this expedition, and would coordinate the various armies in clearing out the house. I would do the 'heavy lifting', but would still be under his organizational jurisdiction. It was a nice term which meant that the other forces were only obliged to follow his 'advice', and did not fall under his command. As such, however, failure to oblige to advice would result me in 'insisting' that such advice be heeded. All in all, everyone got to keep their dignity, and I wouldn't have to deal with four armies running around the house.

I sat down beside a command Chimera that Tomas was sitting on. The Commissar was nursing his mug of hot coffee as he ordered his Storm Troopers into position for insertion just across the hallway – but into a whole new set of spaces from the Terminators.

As expected, he had abandoned the use of his hell-pistol for a auto-carbine, a weapon that looked very much like a Uzi sub-machine gun.

Standing orders among all armies coming with us was to use either close combat weapons or solid munition weapons – I banned the use of everything except for lasguns because I didn't want to set anything on fire. Therefore, everyone except the Tau embraced this as a whole new exercise in close combat – especially the Orks - and the remainder were justifiably miffed.

The blue-skinned aliens' whole combat philosophy was to engage the enemy from as far away as possible, and only close into hand-to-hand fighting if absolutely necessary. That meant that I had to relegate them to the open areas – along with the Eldar – to hunt down anything that wasn't hiding in the walls.

He noticed me, and I gave him a questioning look. He tapped the comms officer on the shoulder, who whipped around – nearly strangling himself on the wires – and stood to attention. A quick conversation followed as the comms officer went blue in the face. Tomas tapped his throat-mic.

"All signals clear?"

"Yep. Your comms officer just passed out, though."

"You! Grab a medical orderly, and see to this man."

I grinned as I walked over to the opposite hallway, spinning the crowbar around my fingertips as I did.

Of course, it slipped.

Storm Troopers looked up as I cried out in surprise.

"INCO~!" _**CLANG!**_

The Storm Troopers scattered as the giant whirling Iron Crowbar of Doom slammed into the ground, bouncing along as it skipped across the hard wooden floor.

"Sorry!"

- - - - -

"Brother Morteus, your prayers have been answered." Brother Jerrus chuckled, settling down in his suit. The black armored Chaplain strode forward, his every footfall oozing anticipation as he advanced to join the two Terminators.

The two five Marine Terminator squad had dispersed into three man teams, with these two joining brother-Chaplain Morteus in his quest for a head of Rat, and the other two remaining being joined by Captain Eizak as he decided to go hunting for the Tyranid-like 'cockroaches' that he had been presented with.

"Report, Brother Jerrus." The Chaplain's clipped tone was gilded with an almost juvenile glee..

"There's a whole nest of 'em." Jerrus replied. He fed the recording of his suit into the Chaplain's helmet screens, which earned the Terminator a rare laugh from the elderly priest. It was almost disconcerting to see the sagelike, fatherly figure of Chaplain Morteus turn into a more childlike persona, full of glee. Like a juvenile hiver boy that had just received a toy Bolt pistol for Christma- Emperor's Day. The Terminator checked himself, and sighed. He was getting too used to this world. It would be hard to readjust to the constant battle and turmoil that was the lifestyle of a Space Marine.

Meanwhile, Brother Chaplain Morteus smiled at the video feed projected into his retina from the little projector inside of his helmet. Two larger ones were arranging themselves a nest, which was dimly lit at best. Around them, relatively smaller rats scurried about, gnawing at the very foundations of the house they were assigned to protect.

Chaplain Morteus grinned. He wondered if he was taking too much pleasure from his hunting, and fought to keep his bloodlust in check. The desire was almost overwhelming him.

"CLEANSE! _PURGE! __**KILL!**_"

The black armored Space Marine's grinning skull-like helmet seemed to smile for him as his chainsword bit into flesh. Following his trophy hunting trail of decapitation (and keeping quite a distance away), the two Terminator 'bodyguards' indulged in a quick game of Fist, Shield and Lance.

It was a game played by their free hands, involving three elements: the aforementioned fist, shield and lance. The Fist shatters the Shield, the Shield deflects the Lance, and the Lance outreaches the Fist. It was a simple game found in many worlds – of course, with many variations in name – to reach a decision. The single finger extended to point at the closed fist.

"Hah!" Jerrus laughed, pointing the finger at Alrus. "Lance beats Fist, Brother Alrus."

"So it may be, Brother Jerrus." Alrus agreed, giving the best impression a Terminator could give for a sage stroking his beard and nodding his head. "But I believe that best two out of three is traditional."

"Only with younglings, Brother Alrus. For us Marines, there are no second chances."

"Well said, brother. Well said."

The defeated but amused Terminator walked over to the first head, and picked it up as delicately as he could with his power fist.

"But you're carrying the next lot!"

- - - - -

"Commissar Tomas, sir. We have prepared our positions." The Tanith Scout known as Sergeant MacTavish reported, his cameleoline cloak masking his figure. They were underneath the floorboards now, in the foundations of the house. And they had found themselves the perfect killzone.

The Storm Troopers had been assigned with the Scouts for the specific reason that the Tanith scout-snipers – known as the Special Advanced Snipers to the Departmento Munitorium – were the best for the task of sneaking around undetected in the dark and dingy caverns created by the _Homo sapiens titanicus_.

They had found the ambush point, and had co-ordinated the Storm Troopers to set up their heavy stubbers and solid-slug weapons into their current formation. Even the grizzled Sergeant Folay couldn't say he would have done better.

"Sensor cntact, 9 o'chrono. Counting twenty and four of the surfboards, approaching our killzone."

"Tertarius, in position."

"Secundus, in position."

"Let them come..."

There was a squelch on the comms, indicative of one of the Storm Troopers had just seen one of those surfboards Michael had mentioned. It was insitinctive, that when in sight of the enemy yet still hidden that the Storm Troopers would avoid using their voices, instead simply pressing down on the 'send' stud to squelch the channel.

A rapid three squelches pulsed through the comms channel. That was the signal to fire.

The ripping report of the autoguns filled the air as the creatures were cut down by the heavy slugs, their carapaces as if paper to the armor piercing rounds.

The gunfire stopped as Tomas broke cover, his demeanor oddly silent for a Commissar. Instead of roaring defiance to the enemy or threats to his men, he simply lead by silent example, his head ducked low to aid in his sprint and his power fist crackling as it trailed behind him.

Tomas leaped into the air, fist rising in a deadly arc.

His crackling, rust-red gauntlet crashed into the head of the living board. The solid mass crushed its face, popping eyes and breaking the mandibles on its jaw.

The creature kept on moving, however, and Tomas jumped back as a clawed limb slashed blindly. He dropped to the ground, and rolled back.

"Fire away!"

"Ramez! Get on that stubber and take that thing out!"

The dull, heavy thumping of the large caliber was punctuated by the sickening wet crack of the rounds hitting the carapace of the animal and punching right through. Ramiez sat silently behind his weapon as the creature fell, the trooper beside him almost grinning in disbelief as e held the belt of munitions in his hands.

Tomas picked himself up and dusted off his greatcoat and blood red sash, and looked at the devastation around him. There was perhaps more damage to the surrounding environment than there was to the creatures that they had encountered. He sighed in frustration.

"Good job, people... but seriously, where did you learn to aim? You missed just about every other shot, look at the place... You're Imperial Storm Troopers, your marksmanship is remarkably inaccurate for the given situation."

- - - - -

"Fire Warriors, in position."

"Stealthsuits, ready and waiting."

"Shas'la Wu'bie here. I'm uh... lost. I got separated from my team. Command and Control, can you advise?"

Half of the Fire Warriors sighed in frustration. This was always happening!

"Just find a safe location and wait up there, or you can guide yourself to the markerlight, Shas'la. We'll send someone along to find you when we're finished here."

"Alright, moving to a safe rally point... Its kind of wet in here... augh! That's just _nasty!_ These 'Rats' seem to gather their excrement into one of these passageways..." There was a whimper of disgust. "Ethereals help me, I'm going to _drown_ in excrement! Ugh..."

Up in the Command and Control center, the operator palmed her face.

"Shas'ui Eldi'myr, would you kindly detach half of your Fire Warriors to find Shas'la Wu'bie?"

"Oh dear Ethereals... the _smell!_" There was the sound of a Fire Warrior vomiting through the inside of his helmet. Every Fire Warrior that had previously experienced such an accident immediately checked themselves.

"He forgot to activate the toxin filters, didn't he?" One Fire Warrior sighed.

"Please do not clutter up the comms channel, Shas'la." Command-and-control reassured. "We are sending Fire Warriors to... extract you right now."

Shas'ui Eldi'myr was already on his way.

"Its _seeping_ through my armor weave!" Screamed the panicking Fire Warrior. "Just what do these Earth vermin _eat!?_"

"Panicking Fire Warriors, Shas'la." Chuckled a Stealth Suit leader.

"Shas'vre Mee'ni!" Shas'El Firestrike barked warningly.

"Right... err... sorry, Shas'El."

"Shas'la, your support is coming, hold still and try not to struggle. I hear it only makes it worse. Back on to our mission, then. Stealth Team On'hua, do you have our targets?"

"Confirmed, Shas'El. Counted three and two eights rats."

"Smoke 'em out, Shas'la. You know the plan."

"On my mark... fire!"

Shas'El Firestrike thumbed the timer.

The suppressed bursts of plasma fire splashed across the ground, jerking heads around in surprise. The camouflaged Tau Fire Warriors strode out of cover, the Gun Drones spraying sunfire at the nest of creatures. It was a huge nest, maybe four dozen or so, inside of the basement.

Stealthsuits activated their 'haywire' programs, sending their stealth fields into a wonderful show of light. To the normal humans, it might have accounted for half of a rave's strobe lights packed into one small package. To the rats, it was pure terror.

They panicked and fled from the two teams of stealthsuits, sending them down the last remaining passageway.

"Kroot, your time has come!"

The Kroot Carnivores jumped from their hiding places, their long rifles blasting a series of metal slugs into the fleeing rats. A dozen fell immediately, before the Kroot closed into their specialty; the brutal hand-to-hand fighting of their barbaric origins. The twin-scythe bladed long rifles whirled in blood-traced arcs as it almost surgically butchered the rats. Limbs and heads fell to the ground as the Kroot descended to the final stages of their combat doctrine: The assimilation of the enemy genes to the Kroot genome. The Carnivores gorged themselves on rat meat, which was carefully ignored by the other Tau.

The third eighth – equivalent to twenty human seconds - ticked off the timer.

"Well done, warriors."

The Tau Fire Warriors nodded quietly to each other, each giving the others praise for marksmanship or kill count. A Kroot Carnivore gave an almighty burp in celebration, which sent the others into a cackling cacophony of laughter.

Over the comms, Shas'la Wu'bie tapped the channel.

"Okay... still alive... can someone get me now?"

- - - - -

"We are in position, Farseer." Warlock Yoza reported.

"I can See that, Yoza."

She could practically feel his radiant smile as he chuckled.

"Having a lot of pun, aren't you?"

Her spine tingled at his psychic whisper, and she quickly broke the mind link as more matters came up. The sheer number of vermin inside of his house was disgusting, almost living up to her expectation of mon-keigh. Vile, dirty living quarters indeed. She would rather have stayed at home, but Michael was right: her troopsm especially the Exarches, found their warrior personae to be irritatingly unsettled and aggressive. If she did not provide them with release sooner or later, then they were going to explode with the pressure. Striding up to her command Viper, Zara's elegant leap settled her atop the battle platform.

"Move swiftly, and let us be done with this vile work." She prepared herself to spit, realized her head was encased in a helmet, went through the fiddly process of removing it, and spat.

"Hey!" Came the warning from a Dire Avenger beside her.

Zara quickly apologized as she re-did her helmet.

There were rats all over the kitchen.

"Clean this filth." She ordered.

The Ulthwe Craftworld's forces moved out, their weapons gleaming as they fell upon their prey.

- - - - -

"Dutch, this better be worth it!" Buck strode out of his car, and walked over to the crouched over figure of Dutch. The veteran exterminator turned around, and pointed at the rubbish bag he had been inpsecting.

"You should have a look at this, I think." He said, pointing the bag at his boss.

Buck peered inside, and was assaulted with the scent of dead vermin. Dozens of rats, and even more cockroaches. They seemed... thoroughly destroyed. Not poisoned nor trapped, but it seemed like each had been individually killed in combat.

"Uh... rookie, come here."

I strode over, rather nervous about the meeting. I mean, he was my boss, after all. And inside the van were four very satisfied armies, all excitedly going over combat recordings of

"Yes sir?"

"Did you do all this?"

"Um... yes? I mean... yes, sir."

The man arched an eyebrow, and put rugged hands on his hips. Hands which could easily break necks if he so chose to.

"You're not even messy." The man observed. "I see scuff marks and all that, but not nearly as much mess as I'd expect from you."

"I wore gloves, sir." I quickly explained.

"We're not in the military, you know. 'specially the Marines." The man reminded me, and despite his statement still wore the bearing of a drill sergeant dressing down a recruit. I was sweating for an answer.

"Just being respectful, I'd say, Buck." Dutch chipped in.

"Uh... that's right, s- uh... boss?" Dutch was standing behind Buck, and furiously nodding. "Yeah, boss."

The veteran exterminator gave me a grim look for another heartbeat, before giving me a rough smile. An employer pleased with the job his employee had done.

"I'd have to say that was a job damned well done, Rookie." He patted me on the shoulder, and chuckled. "Trade secrets for you, I suppose, so I ain't gonna complain. You'll do fine for us." Buck grinned, and shared a grin with Dutch.

I allowed a smile to creep onto my own face, only to find that both men had stopped grinning.

"Now start cleaning up, Rookie!"

- - - - -

"Its okay, Brother Morteus. You can get your rat's head sooner or later. Maybe next time."

_**Hey guys, I hope you've been enjoying my stories so far. Please review! I really enjoy reading what you think of my stories. Also, you can contact me via msn (rogue_), so we can chat about ToyHammer and, well, anything else you might want to chat about. I get really bored sometimes, so please, come along and drop a message. If not, then there's also the forums (you can find it off my link) as well.**_

-Rouge.


	3. Valentines Day

_**Well, its time for another Holiday SUPER SPECIAL Omake!**_

_**Valentine's Day was kind of hard to write, since there's few romantic stories in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, is there? But anyway, here's my best attempts at Valentine's Day for the ToyHammer minis.**_

_**Thought for the Day: **_Cherish your loved ones, for they do not last forever.

-Valentines Day; 02/14/10

-28 Belmont Street

I looked at the Council, the collection of leaders from the various races. The Imperials were easily one half of the Council, the Eldar, Tau and Orks making up the rest. So far, this was a daily – if not twice daily – affair in which I'd discuss things happening over a cup of coffee to ease my frayed nerves.

"Valentines?" The Imperial Council repeated, their many and varied accents twisting the word, turning it over and over on their tongues like a wine taster would swirl a fine vintage in their mouth; tasting it, feeling its texture as it rolled off their senses.

I nodded in response.

"Yep. Saint Valentine's Day."

"Another of your celebrations? Emperor's Protective, you Terrans have a way with holidays." Justicar Amadeus shook his helmet in disbelief, and rolled his helmet from palm to palm, looking thoughtfully to the axe-head like faceplate

"Oi, Big Boss! We'z gets ta bash ennyfink?"

"I doubt Gue'la would celebrate with... violence... never mind, I retract that comment, greenskin."

"Quite predictable, I presume." The Eldar councilors sighed, Zara especially.

"Just what did this Saint Valentine do to deserve an entire day dedicated to his praise?" Canoness Samisha pondered, just beside the Justicar. I sat still for a moment, and opened then closed my mouth a few times.

All I knew of Valentine's Day was of the patron saint of lovers.

"Hang on, lets just go get to the computer. Might as well do some research into this."

I picked up a tray, and placed it on the table. Everyone began to step on, and after they were all boarded and ready (to whit, seated) I picked up the tray and walked over into my study.

We were met by the sound of gunfire.

"c0gb01! Turn off the computer, I'm going on!" I shouted over the sound of CounterStrike, and to the answer of multiple dissatisfied Techpriests.

"Michael! Please, stop this intolerable racket!" Imperial Guardsman Sohm Vekt pulled off some ear protection, normally used by the hee-bee monkeys – Hellbreaker artillery crewmen – and pointed accusingly at the gathered techpriests. Behind him, the group of interpreters and lexiconographers of most of the races – Eldar, Tau and Human - were similarly protesting.

"But, we are doing the Great Omnissiah's work!"

"Well, then, you can tell that Omnissiah of yours to take a plasma cutter and turn it on after he's shoved it up your~"

"GUARDSMAN! Check yourself lest you blaspheme against the Emperor!" Roared Commissar Tomas, unholstering his las pistol. Sohm immediately blanched, and went for the departing Chimera. The others didn't know whether to laugh or run away.

"Look, you guys are burning bandwidth like crazy! There is a capacity, and you can't be on all day!"

"17 n07 b33 411 d41, m1kk3y!" [But it _hasn't_ been all day, Michael!]

"... just... get off. Now."

There were a lot of scurrying, a few curses and a lot of apologies for the machines. The Techpriests followed their usual drill for clearing out of my room, and I pulled the chair across, and placed the platter of people on the table. Dismounting from the tray, all the Council again sat down to watch the massive screen.

My computer had been considerably changed by the arrival of the Techpriests. It ran faster, and had numerous attachments now: coolant lines (although from where they got the coolant, I don't know. I heard that the Wilsons next door had a radiator leak about four days ago, though.) ran from the computer's many caverns, and there was now a carefully constructed doorway for access into the Tower of Cogitators. As well as all that,there were numerous religious insigne on various surfaces, as well as a _goddamned shrine _crowning the top of the monitor.

I turned to the keyboard, and began tapping around on Wikipedia. "He was ancient Roman, if I'm not mistaken... we're talking about a rather long time ago..." I scrolled down the page a little. Ah, 'Saint Valentine'...

_Numerous early Christian martyrs were named __Valentine__. _

I just about Bowed in Frustration.

"Dammit, there's more than one Valentine!?"

There was some very amused faces that just as quickly disappeared as I turned to face them.

"Well, mon-keigh... I find it rather confusing that you do not know the purpose of such celebrations..." Farseer Zara purred. Yes, literally purred. "... and yet you say that a large portion of this world observes such holy days without knowing their origins?"

"They've become lost with a lot of commercialism nowdays." I answered, drumming my fingers thoughtfully on the table. "People get caught in with the entertainment value of the holiday, not the religious. They get to have fun, to laugh and play. In fact, I think more than a few people owe their lives to Valentines day..." If you know what I mean.

"How interesting..." Samisha said, mostly to herself. Thankfully, my Tooth-of-Blue was hooked up to their vox-frequencies, so I could actually hear them when they wanted more... delicate expressions.

Her armored fingers tapped her chin thoughtfully, and then turned to the Justicar to ask him about this new Saint. The conversation between them went into a vaguely religious debate about whether this Valentine should be recognized and if so, how should he be recognized.

With that going on, General Ulrich Faust moved past Commissar Tomas, who respectfully stepped back as he tucked away his canteen of recaf. Tapping his comm bead, the rotund General looked up at me.

"So... Michael... just how is this 'Valentine's Day' celebrated?"

Now _that_ was an easy question.

- - - - -

Sohm was pouring over notes. The _homo sapiens titanicus_ species was certainly fascinating for a lexiconographer. They generated so much information! On this single planet alone, there were no less than four scripts that were used by a large majority of the population.

"... h-here. Take it."

Cadian Guardsman/Pressganged Interpreter Sohm Vekt blinked at the small, simply embellished box being offered to him. It was the plain white of freshly constructed uniwrap, a versatile material used for packaging throughout the Imperium. It was adorned with a simple flower-like seal of wax where the strips of fabric binding held the lid in place.

Meliya's face was rather more red than usual, he observed as he looked at the box. Sohm was unsure about this, he looked up at Meliya, who couldn't meet his face. They had always had an awkward

"Uh..."

He reached out and took the box from the Sister's hands, and looked at her rather curiously. She was – despite the medical regulators built into powered armor – visibly sweating and her face was flushed red. Sohm stepped forward and pressed the back of his palm against her forehead, testing the temperature of her face.

"Hmm... a little hot. Are you feeling alrig~ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! LET GO! _LET GO!_"

The box clattered to the floor as Sohm's arm was twisted about behind his back to breaking point. The sudden motion had also dislodged a half-dozen of his dataslates, sending them skidding across the ground as he struggled for purchase. He was again reminded of the fact that while Meliya appeared as a rather shy and almost timid woman, she was a fully trained and capable Sister of Battle, among the most faithful of the Emperor's servants.

The ring of cool metal that he felt on the back of his neck suddenly registered – a bolt pistol. Sohm was very, very still as he half-turned to face Meliya's out-of-breath face.

"C-can you let go now, please? I've lost feeling to my fingers... look, we've got that Tau lexicon to submit tomorrow, and if I can't write then what use am I to the Emperor?"

A sigh came out behind him, and he felt Meliya shift her weight slightly.

There was a sudden sense of relief as he felt the almost bone-crushing grip loosen.

There was a _thud_ as Meliya and her powered armor hit the ground. The bolt pistol she had been carrying with her fell to the ground. Sohm turned around in alarm as he saw her collapsed form.

"Meliya!"

- - - - -

"The Gue'la celebrate their bonds? Of trust and mutual respect? My my, that _is _interesting..." Shas'vre Korst'yuan'du'oc (Death From Above) mused at the report made by Shas'El Firestrike. There was a beep as the recently dubbed 'Pringles' buzzed by, its utility attachments already working away at the seals of his XV-25 Stealthsuit.

He turned to his brothers and sisters in arms, who were carefully maintaining their equipment. They were bonded by the Tau ceremony of Ta'lissera. The ceremony of communion and of eternal bonds. Smiling slightly to himself, the Tau Stealthsuit team leader looked on to the figures standing around him.

"How so very unlike what the Ethereals have so far seen, Korst'yuan'du'oc." Shas'ui B'korst'ka (Guider of the Deadly Strike) was their marksman, a steady shot even with her normally close-ranged burst cannon. She was cool headed and calculating, and always the first to fire. She held the helmet of her stealthsuit in her hand, a microtool in the other as she worked at the pins holding a panel in place.

"Its almost as if they could feel compassion."

"Talking about compassion, I think today would be a good day for me to tell you a little secret." Shas'vre Korst smiled, reaching into the box of personal belongings. The other three members of his team looked on intently, all tense in anticipation.

Out came a plainly decorated ceramic flask – usually used for storing liquors.

The veteran Tau Fire Warriors exchanged looks, and began to chuckle softly amongst each other.

"That Vior'la Stealthsuit team we joined last Tau'cyr? Well, this is thanks for saving their hides from that Chaos Rhino that nearly flattened them."

Soon enough, the tension unwound as Shas'ui B'korst'ka's hand shot out to try and grab the flask. Another minute later, the team had relaxed and were passing around the flask of Ky'husa, a hot spirit known to humans as 'Lava liquor'.

Shas'ui M'yen Ma'caor (Unforseen Spider) picked up the flask and gulped down a sip. The lukewarm liquid burned as it slipped down her throat. The Shas'ui was the team's ambush specialist, and Shas'vre Korst would usually trust her instincts when they had to lay up and wait to ambush an unwitting target.

"Well, the Vior'la certainly know how to make their Ky'husa." She purred contentedly, snug inside of her Stealthsuit.

"Aye, and I'll wager that this will be the last time we'll be able to enjoy ourselves like this for a long time..." Shas'ui M'yen sighed.

The others nodded, sombre and thoughtful. Shas'vre Korst pulled out their bonding knife, the instrument of war that marked their communion. "But when that time passes, we'll go and have some fun. Agreed?"

One by one, the Tau Stealthsuit pilots touched the blade that had drawn blood from all four of them, remembering its hot touch when they had agreed to be one.

"Aye."

- - - - -

"A celebration of shared feelings." Justicar Amadeus mused, mostly to himself, re-playing the combat recording of Michael's latest talk of Earth culture. He archived it, and prepared to send it to the Librarian Vasili. The man would surely enjoy picking apart the recording. He looked up as he felt the tread of powered armor through his boots.

"Ah, Canoness Samisha." The Grey Knight Justicar bowed his head in greeting to his peer, and the black armored Sister of Battle did likewise.

"Justicar Amadeus." Was her clipped reply. That was all they needed, really.

The Grey Knight Space Marine and the Sister of Our Martyred Lady had worked together for a long while now, nearly four decades in the Padris Crusades, and had constantly been in the thick of the action while leading their respective brothers and sisters in arms against the enemies of the Emperor.

His shining silver armor was a nice contrast to her darkly colored armor as they walked along on the journey back to their fellows. As the two plodded past the Tau outpost, Justicar Amadeus turned to face Canoness Samisha.

"So, Samisha, what do you think of this? Such celebrations are no doubt... honorable and noteworthy, but I want to hear your thoughts on this."

The woman smiled as she idly stroked the stone rosarius wrapped around her left arm. It fitted snugly into a series of depressions on her gauntlet, so that it would be as much a part of her armor as her armor was a part of her. She looked up at Amadeus, and chuckled.

"Such celebrations are at their worst a vain attempt for traders to peddle their goods to idealists, but at their best... its a beautiful concept. To pride yourself in your relationships, to honor your loved ones... those that aren't there and those that are. It celebrates what humanity has above all others."

"I agree, Samisha."

The two veteran servants of the Ordo Malleus and the God-Emperor shared a wry smile, their pauldrons sparking as they scraped against each other. The Justicar was more than willing to simply idle like this, never quite enjoying the company of a fellow human outside of his Chapter quite as much as he enjoyed the company of Canoness Samisha. Turning to her, words began to form in his mouth.

"Canoness..."

"JUSTICAR! JUSTICAR!" It was the strangled, near-panic cry of one of his men – Brother Timmae – and it was soon followed by the _dakka dakka dakka_ of Silverite's twin bolters. Of course, that didn't last long until a roaring Ork stopped the firing. A series of crunches and another _dakka_ followed. The Ork's voice was next heard whimpering for mercy.

Justicar Amadeus gnashed his teeth. Near heretical he may be, but Silverite was not a coward nor incompetent.

"What is it, Brother Timmae?"

There was a double-burping sound as the Grey Knight discharged his double barreled Storm Bolter.

"The Orks, Justicar! They're 'celebrating' this holiday! Those greenskins are charging up the stairs..." There was the sound of howling horrors as a Grey Knight sent a torrent of psychic energy roaring towards the Ork lines. There was a shift in battle-lines, and now the cries of the Adepta Sororitas and the pulsing 'clink-schaww' of Tau railguns joined the din of battle. "The Sisters of Battle and the Tau are holding well alongside us, but we need aid! Send for the Governor!"

In the background, above the cacophony of Ork weapons, one bellowed out above the others.

"SHARE DA LUV! SHARE DA LUUUUUURVE! **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!**"

"Holy Emperor, what was that!?"

"Got it!"

"... BROTHER SILVERITE, STOP JUGGLING THOSE GROTLINGS AND GET BACK TO FIGHTING!"

Justicar Amadeus turned to Canoness Samisha, and was surprised to see her gone and already running at full sprint towards the Ork incursion. The Justicar himself caught up to her about halfway.

"Back into it, I suppose." Justicar Amadeus grimly intoned.

Samisha nodded in reply, and the Justicar smiled.

Their knuckles met as they accelerated into a charge, joining the fray with their bolt-weapons blazing.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

- - - - -

"You're awfully cheerful today, Ishabeth." Commissar Tomas looked up from the dataslate he was furiously tapping away at, trying to work through the numerous requisitioning forms and reports. Of course she was happy, it was literally _in the air._ The usual scent of parchment and grease had been utterly eradicated by the smell of Yprean Amora flowers, despite none being around. Ishabeth was a psyker, after all, and her secondary ability to trick the senses with her imagination would have gotten her shot, were it not for her usefulness as a battle-psyker.

"Hmm?" It seemed, however, that the airheaded Ishabeth was also completely oblivious to that particular facet of her powers. She was practically dancing around on her staff as she sat on the edge of the green cushion. It was an improvised job made from materials provided by Michael, and normally served as the Commissar's couch, although more often than not, it would be his bed for the night – there just wasn't any real reason to trudge back to the officer's hab-block and crash into his bed there, no matter how similar the two surfaces were.

"I said, you seem awfully cheerful today."

"Oh... I am?"

"It is most disconcerting, Ishabeth."

"Hmm... I have been Wandering lately, and... well, things are just so cheerful in the neighborhood around us... I just can't help it." She gave a small 'squee' and crashed back down onto the couch/bed/surface.

Tomas lowered his cup of recaf, and looked at her for a moment.

Wandering was her personal term for another of her abilities, this time a consciously activated power. The psyker could remove her senses from her body, and then 'latch on' to the senses of another being some distance away. This was a most useful method of gathering reliable information before a battle, as she had become used to seeing through the eyes of a creature close by to a traitor commander's battle plans.

Ishabeth stirred, her hand rubbing her shoulder as her face scrunched up into a mask of pain.

However, there were risks, so that power was used sparingly when faced against certain foes, such as Chaos. There were such times when other psykers had fallen prey to the Warp, and Tomas had been forced to execute them. He quietly touched the laspistol at his right hip. If he were forced to... would he be able to shoot her?

Why was he even thinking that? Of course he would... right?

The airheaded witch gasped as she bolted upright, and Tomas jerked upright.

"What's wrong?"

"... nothing. There's a woman out in that direction... bit into a chocolate..." Ishabeth giggled as she did. "Turns out there's a gold ring in it."

"I... see..." Grabbing his thermo-conservative flask, the Commissar shook it for a second before opening the cap and gulping down some more of the 'coffee' that he enjoyed so much, and poured himself another cup for good measure. He was getting flustered. The Commissar's cap was removed and placed on the back of his chair.

Ishabeth peered at him from underneath her hood, and her lips curved into a soft smile. Tomas felt his cheeks darken to red, and busied himself with his work. He turned half-away from her, wondering what the sweet, milky taste in his mouth was. Of course a byproduct of Ishabeth's abilities, he still was confused to its name.

"You know... that 'chocolate' confectionary tasted good..." She murmured, as if only to herself. Tomas felt her arms curl around his neck, and her hair whisper against his ear.

He turned around, and saw her dancing away from him, her light build skipping over the plasteel floor.

She giggled, and crashed back onto the makeshift couch.

Tomas steadied his racing heart, and sighed.

Huh. Psykers. Never would understand them.

- - - - -

"Ugh..." I hefted Big Red VI, and tossed it in the pile of spent fire extinguishers. Good grief, it was a good thing Vincent's friend was a pyrotechnician, and so could get these things for cheap.

Goddamn Orks.

Trudging across the room, I dressed into my sleepwear – boxers and a shirt - and promptly fell into bed. Tired as I was, sleep wrapped its embrace about me as soon as my eyes shut.

-

A hand, soft and limber, stroked my cheek. I looked up to see a black-haired girl peering down at me.

"... Michael?"

It was Young-Zara, an aspect of her personality. She was dressed in simple Terran clothes – a change from her usual Greco-Roman toga. And the skimpy Santa costume. It was an oversized jersey – to the point where it almost became a dress – and what looked like a skirt that reached her knees. The fabric that made up the jersey, however, was a lot lighter, like smoke. It wrapped around her and hung off her slim body, and I'll be damned if I wasn't tempted by the shapes presented to me.

Eldar were such beautiful creatures, so long as they kept their mouths shut. At the stage where they didn't, the universe's most ancient (still breathing) race became nearly the most annoying... well, you know, right?

I lifted myself upright.

"Yah! You again!?" I scrambled up to my feet, expecting Undeserved and Disproportionate Retribution to suddenly arrive. I didn't quite know why that was, though.

Tears welled up on the avatar of Zara's every insecurity and worry. She was soon crying. I sighed, not quite knowing what to do. Yoza's own inner child wasn't quite as sensitive, but explained to me the concept: Every Eldar had multiple personality disorder (which explained a lot) and usually specialized them to some end. Warrior aspects, craftsman aspects, and aspects such as these, where they poured all their emotions and worries so that the others could focus and not suffer from such trivial things.

Of course, any competent leader had a lot of worries to get rid of.

"N-no! I don't mean it like that!" I hurriedly scrambled to my feet as Young-Zara began to cry. "Its just that... well... your other selves... are kinda bitc– protective! Protective... of you... you know... 'cause you're a part of them... 'nd you're... ah... more sensitive?"

She sniffled, and nodded her understanding. Shuffling forward, she wrapped herself in my arms and clung to my shirt. Awkwardly, I stroked her hair until she brought herself back to sniffling and steadying her breath.

Peering up at me, she hiccuped. "Th-thanks for that, mon-keigh..."

Hugging me close, I felt her nose trace the line of my collarbone, finding that snug little nook where someone could always find comfort.

I tried to smile as I brushed tear-soaked hair out of her eyes… dammit, why couldn't normal Zara be this heart-wrenchingly cute?

"Because, mon-keigh, I usually have to lead an army."

Oh _shit._


	4. Ordo Vermin: The Great Pest

_**Alright, this is the second part of the Ordo Vermin Omake series! Enjoy!**_

= = = = = 10 Selesly Ave, Floor 2 Apartment 19 (Mitchells Residence), Thursday, 6:03 pm...

I pushed past a red-haired woman, and stepped out of the well traveled footpath and into the house. It was dead quiet in here, except for the scurrying of mice and rats.

Reaching up, I flicked on my 'comm-bead', to use the Guardsmen's name for such devices.

"Advisory, this is Michael. I have returned."

"We noticed." Chuckled the friendly voice of Father Jeremiah, who sat at Advisory, the command and control center for our operations.

I smiled. Extermination had never been so fun before.

- - - - - 5 minutes later.

"Sergeant Vinters, how is it up there?"

The Assault Marine had abandoned the use of their jetpacks, and were now simply moving around on foot. Like that was a problem for them. Vinters tapped his vox as he walked at the lead of the Marine formation.

"Lighting fixtures have been investigated, Michael. We're moving through the attic now."

I punched in another channel.

"Chaplain Morteus, drop the rat."

"What rat, Michael?" Came the deep bass reply.

"Its been over five minutes, I'm pretty sure you've found _another_ one by now."

"B-but!"

"Drop. The. Rat."

"..."

"Morteus!"

"Alright, alright..." There was the sound of something hitting the ground with a wet _smack_, and then one of the other Space Marines accompanying Morteus confirmed his disposal of the vermin's head.

"Shas'vre DFA, how are you doing?"

"Just fine, Gue'O Mi'kel." Death-From-Above responded.

"Seraphim, progress report."

The Sisters of Battle were clearing the attic of the apartment, an onerous task if anything. They were also babysitting the cogboys as they shifted through the materials, hoping to pick up any forgotten materials to take with them.

"We are doing well, Michael."

"j00 |\/|457 b33 0u7 0f 17, 7h3r3'5 70n2 0f 0ld 57uff up h33r! 4 d4 c0gh33d!" [You must be out of it, there's tons of old stuff up here! Praise the omnissiah!]

Chuckling, I switched to the Orks.

"Madork Gunna?"

They were a recent addition, but for the Eldar and the others it meant that the Orks got their taste for blood without having to resort to 'krumpin' the others, so in that respect the prospect of the Orks getting the messiest jobs was a welcome option for them. I thumbed the 'send' button again.

Ten seconds had passed. There was no reply from the Orks.

"Oi, push da green button, ya daft squig."

"Iz dis fancy box workin'?"

I palmed my face.

"Ya zoggin' git..."

"It iz?" There was a small _clang _as a grotling was punted by the metal boot of Madork Gunna, Da Big Boss' Right Hand Ork. "Me an' yer boyz are clearin' dis place up, boss! We'ze gonna finish first, an' we'ze gonna finish it roight an' proppa!"

"'roight, so long as youz don' krump da uvvers, okay?" I was starting to learn a little Orkish, which was mostly a butchered English anyway, and found that it went a long way when dealing with the Orks.

Proppa Bosses dun talk lik' dem pinkies. Dey'z gotta talk lik' an' Ork.

I turned to the General Advisory unit, more specifically at the advisor and organizer of the rat-hunting events.

"General Faust, how is progress?"

The rotund commander looked up from his consoles, which were displaying scans of the entire house that we were in. Lines scurried about, showing where the squads had been, where they were now, and where they were to be.

"We are almost done here, Michael. Give us another hour or two and we'll have this habitation cleaned up."

"Understood."

= = = = = 28 Belmont Street. Home. Friday, 8:27am...

Two jingling beeps, and then a single tone that dipped down then pitched sharply higher.

Vincent had a real sense of humor.

Somehow, he had programmed in the Metal Gear Solid Codec noise into my cellphone. A year and a half ago, the Final Fantasy VII Victory Fanfare. Last time I leave it alone for more than ten minutes at his house. I fumbled the cell as I pulled it out of my pocket, but managed to catch it before it got to the floor.

"Hello?"

"Yo, Rookie." Buck was on the line. I straightened up in my seat as

"Uh, hi, boss..." I replied a little awkwardly.

"We got a call for one of our boys to go clean up out in 90 Tennyson Road. You know the drill, call for help if you need it. Caller's name is Olivia Walker."

"Right, boss."

- - - - - 90 Tennyson Road 10:51 am...

"Hello? Miss Walker?"

_Knock knock knock._

Nothing

"'allo?"

The door creaked open, revealing a short-ish young woman. She peered up at me with bright green eyes, her red hair bobbing up and down as she tilted her head back to look up – like I said, she was short compared to me.

"Ah... hi... I'm looking for Miss Olivia Walker, she called for the Odd Street Exterminators?" I tapped my overalls, which had the name for the company – odd in both name and disposition.

It looked like the cogs were turning in her brain, and I waited patiently, praying that she had been told about this.

"Oh! Right, right... we've just been having all these... rat things in the basement and through the house... I just don't know what they're here for, and they've been keeping us up all night with their scratching and stuff, since our walls are connected 'n... yeah... Olivia – she owns the place, really - must have told you about them..."

I blinked... her figure and the way she was swaying from side to side was most distracting... and shrugged, half-turning to look at the shrubbery outside while I tried to work out what she had been saying. This place was old, musty. A relic of the fifties, with a lot in the way of disused rooms and nooks and crannies to hide in.

"Alright, miss... uh... well, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the property for now, because we'll be using some chemicals that will be very uncomfortable to breathe in..." I held up my hands defensively, knowing that some people were rather paranoid or mis-read about this kind of thing. "They'll decay, though, so that they'll be harmless after a couple hours or so... are you the only one in here?"

"No, no more people... just me and Olivia, the other rooms are all empty right now... we've been friends since high-school, you see, so we moved in together when we graduated..." She flushed, seeing my small wince of impeding life-story telling. "Oh, its okay, I don't want to bore you. I'll be going now, so you can start bringing in all your stuff, okay?"

"Okay... uh, do you mind moving your car out of the driveway? I don't want to block any traffic with my van parked in the curb."

Plus, by half-opening the garage door and opening my van up, nobody would notice the small fleet of vehicles and skimmers as they rushed into the house.

The red-haired girl smiled at me, and made her way past me. "I will... good luck... uh..."

"Michael." I put my arm forward, and we shook hands.

"Michael, then..." She giggled as she ran her smooth fingers over mine. Over the last few weeks, my fingertips were cracked from the dozens of splinters and scratches that I had acquired on the job, and the skin there had toughened a lot.

"A working man's hands." The red-haired woman smiled. "Jeanette Voleur. Call me Jeanette."

She turned back into the house, collecting her purse and keys. "Good luck, I suppose... if you need it."

"Alright... take care."

Turning around, I walked off to the van with a smile on my face.

- - - - - Living room, 11:09 am...

"Alright, we all set up?" I tapped the comms, and received a stream of answers. Waiting for them to die down, I turned to Advisor Faust. The rather well rounded man turned to a Techpriest. A familiar face.

"4ll 5y573m5 4r3 r34dy 2 rum13le, |\/|1||3y!" [All systems, ready to rumble, Mikkey!]

"Ah... thanks?" I turned my attention to the rest of the teams. "You all know the plan. Eldar and Tau, sweep the open spaces, look for anything that might be an entrance." The respective forces nodded their understanding, and hurried off to their assigned tasks.

"Orks and Space Marines, you're in the lower walls and under the floor, sweep 'em and clear 'em out. Got it, boyz?" The Orks gave an almighty WAAAAAAAAAGH!, and the Marines simply nodded in understanding. "Right. See you 'round, then."

"Imperial Guardsmen, Sisters of Battle. Ceiling spaces and upper walls. Onward and upwards."

There was another cheer as the Guardsmen mounted up onto their APCs, the Sisters doing the same, except with battle hymns, as far as I could listen in with these guys.

That left the reserve teams on standby. Michael's Marauders, as they were dubbed, was a good mix up of the more open-minded members of each force, to act as a mixed-race unit, ready to strike at any particular concentration of pests.

I nodded as their current _de facto_ leader, Commissar Tomas, checked in with General Faust. Their leaders tended to switch around: last time, it was our friendly Warlock, Yoza. Next time we took to the field, Aun'ui was scheduled to be leading this force.

"Yes, Tomas, just stay on standby until further notice." Faust reassured the Regimental Commissar.

Things were going good. Just another day at work for all of us.

A vacation for some, even.

Although surprised at the fact that cockroaches had their brains where a spinal chord should have been, the fact that we had suffered next to no casualties (one Tau trooper singed badly when he discharged his plasma gun in the presence of excrement fumes, two Guardsmen wounded lightly when encountering a rather panicked rat, a Space Marine incapacitated when he investigated the strange device that turned out to be a mouse-trap, and seven Eldar slightly nauseated when their Wave Serpent tumbled down the garbage chute) was something of a moment of immense pride for most of the commanders. Commissar Tomas told me that such campaigning would have already depleted a good portion of a Guard Regiment.

I sighed. Life was cheap in the 41st millenium.

Like I had said. Things were going good...

Although... I looked over to the kitchen. Something was niggling at the back of my head, sending thoughts bouncing around in my brain.

"Terminator team, report."

"Yes, Michael?"

"Grab the reserve teams. Head over to the kitchen... I want to know what's underneath there."

The Terminators nodded, and loaded up onto their Land Raider transport.

- - - - - Kitchen cabinet, 11:19 am...

Sohm Vekt clung to his freshly issued autogun as the Devilfish skimmed above the blurring ground. The back ramp was open, to accommodate the excess of Imperial Guardsmen crammed in with the Pathfinders and the Fire Warriors also packed in with them. Sohm bumped against a Fire Warrior with an orange helmet, with a pure white talon shape marked on the forehead. He craned his neck to face the Warrior, who simply shrugged off the accident. Sohm inclined his head in apology, and the two returned to staring out of the window.

Trooper Karkoff beside him stumbled slightly, only to be seized by their gruff Sergeant. It was all too easy to lose a Trooper falling out of the hatch right now. They were squeezed into the Devilfish carrier like the sea wyverns of Umisho VII. Sohm licked his lips as he remembered opening the can of the finger-sized sea monsters.

They were tasty. Better than the Soylens Viridians that were the usual fare for the Cadians.

Behind him, he could see a Sisters of Battle squad riding atop their Rhino transport.

Absent mindedly, he tapped the Tau 'Shas'ui' beside him, and gestured at the blue-skinned soldier's optics enhancer. The Shas'ui nodded, and passed the device over to him. Trying to speak in the afterwash of a Devilfish was a silly idea, although for Orks it seemed to work.

Sohm looked down at the single-lens device, which reminded him of a sniper scope. He peered through it, out at the Sisters riding along behind them. He smiled to himself as he saw Meliya, her weapons of choice – a chainsword and bolt pistol - seated comfortably in their scabbard and holster.

"THANKS!" He shouted to the Shas'ui, who simply nodded and accepted the optical device and tapped it against his shoulder plate, where it clamped down – possibly through some xeno binding agent.

_Wait... did I just borrow something off a xeno?_

The Devilfish swerved off to one side, and the other ramps dropped open. Sohm stopped thinking in favor of moving with the two-dozen troops pouring out of the ramp and seeking out their platoons and squads.

"Oi! Vekt! Get moving! The Quartermaster gave you boots for a_ reason!_"

- - - - - 11:29am

I pulled off my comms, knowing that Father Jeremiah would have more than enough voice-power from his command vehicle just beside me to warn me of anything that might come up. I had finished getting everyone into their various nooks and crannies, and was looking forward to a little bit of a rest.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Oh crap.

Everyone went into high-speed now, their various transports gunning their engines for the nearest hiding spot as I rushed for the front door. I had locked it, of course, so when I heard the tumblers turning in the keyhole, I frowned as I rushed for the door. Buy some time for the minis, so at least they could get hidden.

The door opened, almost into my face. I managed to backpedal enough that it only clipped my nose.

I tried to look nonchalant as I peered around the door.

"Hello?"

"Oh! You must be Michael! Jeanette told me about you: I'm Olivia." Sure enough, a woman about the same age as her friend was standing in front of me, with Jeanette smiling cheerfully right behind her. Unlike the short (in both height and hair length) woman that had greeted me the first time, Olivia was taller, and with long brown hair. They seemed almost opposites. I guess then I was drifting off, because next thing I knew Olivia was waving her hair in front of me.

"Hel-lo? Anyone in there?" She teased, and I flushed red.

"Uh... sorry... well, I've just been setting up, going to get started now... is something the matter?"

"Jeanette told me that you were here, and I was just worrying about a few things in the basement... can you follow me down there? I want to know if it might be a rats nest or something... it could help you clear out the house."

I nodded, eager for the women to be on their way. The minis would have had enough time now to clear out of sight.

"Alright... this is the basement door, right? I've just been having a look around the house..."

- - - - - 11:32am ...

"Eugh... even Hive sewers aren't as bad as this."

They were underneath the kitchen cabinet now, having cut a small hole into the yielding wood and dropping the troopers down into the gloom. Sohm tugged on his Guard issue collars, extending them to cover his neck.

"Grime, dirt and not much else..." Sohm signed, turning to the Tanith scout beside him. Two steps later, something caught his attention. He pointed his illuminator – strapped to his autogun – down at the dark cavern floor. "What do you make of this?"

"Looks like tracks." Spoke the ghostly figure. Sohm jumped up at the sight of the printed skull mask. Unlike that of the Chaplain, this one was a cheap head-covering with a stylized white mask printed onto the fabric. The eyes were hidden behind Starlight sensors. The two oval plates of the input would convert what light there was in the darkness, and give something akin to night vision for the troopers fortunate enough to be issued with them.

He creeped Sohm out, mostly because of his Ghostly visage. When asked about it, the senior officer of the Tanith detachment – a strong-jawed Sergeant named MacTavish - simply stated that 'he had died once already'.

The silent trooper that seemingly appeared to the right of Sohm was not MacTavish.

He was one of the two Tanith scouts assigned to the platoon, and like his partner, had his own set of oddities. Similarly dressed in the swirling camouflage cloaks of the Tanith scouts, this trooper had a dark grey scarf wrapped around his neck and lower face, and combined with the flak helmet on top of his head, also obscured his identity. But even more disconcerting was that he never made a sound: no footstep nor voice was ever heard. It was like some... what was that media figure called? Sohm racked his brain.

Ninja. That was it. Like he had some ninja trait to him... in a quirky kind of way.

"So... what now?" He asked, wondering if he could

The silent trooper simply inclined his head forward, shouldered his auto-rifle, and continued on his way.

Exasperated, Sohm sighed and looked at his comrades in arms. Most of them simply shrugged, although Sergeant Folay did give an annoyed shake of his head.

"Come on, hustle up! Cadians lead the way!"

- - - - -

Justicar Amadeus was deep in thought. He stood atop the kitchen counter, standing opposite to Librarian Vasili.

"Do you feel it?" He inquired, turning to the other psykers.

All of them gravely nodded. The Ultramarine Librarian's fists shook with barely suppressed rage. He had tasted the taint across the warp before. On Macragge itself he had fought them.

"They are here."

"c0gb01, where is Michael!?" Vasili was already shouting into his vox. "What do you mean? He's gone out to take a call!? The boy could be in danger!"

- - - - - Under Floor 1, Room 4. 11:36 am...

"Just one rat... just _one._ Even the Inquisition has more leniency than that!" Morteus grumbled, sure that his helmet speakers were offline. He trudged through the musty underground of the habitation block, his chainsword in hand and the Crozirus Arcanum of his office in the other.

The two giant Terminators were behind him, having split into their usual three-man teams.

Terminators Alrus and Jerrus raised their arms, and threw them down.

"Shield deflects the Lance, Brother Jerrus." Alrus chuckled, tapping his flat palm against the closed fist that had been defeated.

"Right, I'll have to carry around the rat's heads this time..."

Morteus turned his hollow-skulled attention towards them, and the two brotherly Terminators fell silent.

"We have been assigned to scout this area. Stay alert, brothers, we do not know what lurks in these caverns."

Jerrus and Alrus nodded, knowing that whatever had wounded that woman's leg had been able to output some serious power... well, enough power to harm a _homo sapiens titanicus_ would be more than enough to put some serious hurt on even Space Marines, right?

A shadow leaped from the darkness, and the two Terminators leveled their Storm Bolters at it.

"Hold your fire, Brothers!" Morteus raised his Crozirus, and stalked forward.

The creature leapt out at him, too fast to be any Terran creature. Four arms flailed against his armor, scoring deep gouges across Morteus' pauldrons. Another and another leapt out from around the corner, joining in. Morteus fell backwards, cursing and swinging his roaring chainsword.

Too late, the creatures didn't realize that when Chaplain Morteus fell over, it was so that the two Terminators could open fire. Storm Bolters barked in unison, sending a salvo of high explosive shells into the target creature.

The three jerked spasmodically as the rounds crashed into their flesh. They fell back, and lay still before the shells finally detonated, hollowing it out from the inside.

"Ew... seriously? Those Cadian bolts all have a delayed detonation."

"I believe it is to allow the target a moment of horror, Brother Jerrus."

"Indeed, Brother Alrus."

"But horror cannot be felt by something without emotion... look."

Both Terminators inspected the mashed up corpse.

"By the Emperor..."

The remaining pieces of the three creatures that had attacked Morteus, the ones that hadn't been vaporized or hurled against the walls, were barely enough to piece together one of the horrid monsters that they had been. But for the three veterans that surrounded the corpses, it was recognizable enough.

"Genestealers."

- - - - - Basement,. 11:42 am...

I knew it.

Its a really easy thing to say, once you're in the shit. That all the clues had been lined up in your head, that you knew what was going to happen. Being knocked down, dragged into a dimly lit room and tied to a chair certainly was something that you'd want to avoid, though.

Dammit. Why had she done that, though?

Jeanette stood in front of me, a baseball bat in her hand as Olivia finished her work with the bindings.

I spat out a wad of saliva and blood – the inside of my mouth had been cut by my teeth when the baseball bat slugged me in the face – and looked up at them. Classic Hollywood badassery. Except, this wasn't Hollywood and I wasn't exactly badass.

We were in the basement, which was surprisingly clean. Padded floor and the lower sections of the wall. The rest were shelves, filled with... uh... well, special interest equipment. Whips and the stuff, you know?

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked the two kidnappers.

Jeanette smiled at me, her dainty footsteps carrying her across the floor until she was standing between my knees. Her own knees were horribly close to a place that you could kick for massive damage.

"Well, Michael, have you ever heard of the Patriarch?" She asked, twisting away from me as I shook the seat I was tied to.

"No. I haven't." I responded, looking up at her. No use trying to get out. Olivia knew her stuff when it came to tying a person to a seat.

"He provides. He protects." She whispered, her eyes flashing with excitement. "So long as we give back. Now isn't that a fair deal?"

"Yeah, sounds great. You know what? Could you, I don't know, say... _let me go_ and I'll go home and think about it, how about that? I'm not quite certain of my financial situation right now."

Oliva snorted. Ha. Ha. Ha. What a comedian, huh?

"Oh no, we can't have you doing that, Michael. You see, he doesn't ask of money from us..." Her hands drifted down to her jeans, her fingers each touching their counterparts to create an upside down triangle. She placed it over her lower waist, to frame her... my memory stirred as I sifted through old biology classes. Lower waist, just above the pelvic bones...

"_He wants your child!?"_ I almost screamed, before suddenly being silenced by the upwards swing of the baseball bat.

"Yes, Michael, and currently we are at a shortage of male members of the Cult." Leaping up, she straddled my hips, grinning at me. "The Patriarch requires very... _specific _traits among the members of the Cult. For one, they must be receptive of his gifts..." She touched my forehead, and giggled.

"You probably don't know this, Michael, but you have psychic talents. I could_ feel _it when you went past you the other day, you know? The people of this city are so _blunt! _They have no ability whatsoever to receive the blessings of the Patriarch." She was getting quite... enthusiastic about her preaching.

"Oh, well, you know... why not try some of those fortune tellers down at the mall?"

"Those _fakes!?_" Jeanette's jaw dropped, and she came along to sit on my lap. In any other circumstance, it would have been fun. Right now, however... well, she was kind of psychotic.

"No no no, Michael, we need a _real_ psychic. And you seem to have the sensitivity for it." She kissed my on the fore head, swinging her legs around to straddle me. Dammit, why can't I have some woman who was actually _likeable_ do that!? Or wasn't trying to kill me. Jeanette reached down and began to unbuckle my belt. Soon enough, she had stolen my jeans and was folding them up neatly in the corner.

"Uh... so why didn't you just like... take off your clothes, offer 'some other way to pay' or something like that? I think I would have been perfectly happy with that."

"We couldn't risk you catching on... you are, after all, a psychic. We didn't know if you could read our minds or not, and intimacy only increases the likelihood of that. Our gifts were strong enough to keep you out while we were talking, but... well, concentrating is hard when you're having fun. As well as that, receiving His gifts can be a little... painful at times, so we couldn't guarantee your cooperation."

With that, she reached out behind her and pulled out a slimy, four armed monster... I remembered it as a Tyranid Genestealer... oh shit... a real Tyranid infestation!? Fuck!

Well, desperate times, right? You know the rest of that adage.

I swung my head back, and hurled it forwards into Jeanette's face.

Darkness greeted me.

It said: _hi._

- - - - -

Ow. That_ hurt_.

I stood up in my mindscape, looking around at the suffocating whiteness around me. Right, that did the trick.

Closing my eyes, I reached out with my senses, trying to remember how to talk to others.

"Yo, big guy!"

Silverite's shiny silver armor glinted off a non-existent sun as he jogged over to me. His hat's rims bobbled up and down.

"Silverite." I greeted, ignoring the throbbing on my head.

The Grey Knight turned around, and shouted into the distance.

"HEY, EVERYONE! I FOUND HIM!"

There was a whirlwind of motion. In the world of psykers, you were as fast as your mind, physics be damned.

"Michael!" Young-Zara was suddenly on me, tackling me to the ground as I turned around to the sound of her voice. She was near bursting into tears, and clinging onto me for dear life.

"I was so worried! How could I lose a guy your size? Oh... if something had happened to you..."

"Uh... something has. I'm unconscious right now. Someone's kidnapped me and now I'm tied to a chair."

Looking up at me, I realized that was a mistake. The amalgamation of Zara's every fear and worry began to cry, with tears of worry beginning to stream down her cheeks. With Eldar, any emotions that we might feel were amplified a thousandfold, and this personality even more so... dumping all of your worries and fears into a persona did have its disadvantages.

Something strong gripped the back of my neck, and dragged me onto my feet.

"STOP PLAYING WITH HER." Rumbled Big Zara, Avatar Of Khaine.

"Yes ma'am. Right away, ma'am." I immediately responded, trying to pry Young Zara off me. It only got worse from there, and I could feel her tears soaking through my chest.

"Hey, its okay... I'll be fine."

Justicar Amadeus clapped a hand on my shoulder, turning me around.

"Michael, where are you? Are you still in the house?"

"Yeah, I am. Down in the basement of the house."

A slap gave me a start, but instead of looking for a culprit among the gathered psykers, I realized it was happening to me in reality.

"Who'se the closest there?" Wondered Vasili. I almost jumped out of my skin as he ninja'd me.

I thought for a second. "The Orks."

Another slap caused my vision to lose focus. The two women were trying to wake me up.

"Just get help there, fa~!"

A third slap jerked me back to reality.

- - - - -

"Ow."

"That was crude, Michael. I expected you to have been a much more civilized man." Olivia coldly snarled. Jeanette was nursing a bruised forehead.

"Well, then, why don't you let me go? Being tied up makes me angry."

"Oh?" She sneered, striding up to me.

"You won't like me when I'm angry."

Buy time. That was all I needed to do. These women thought they had me trapped, that nobody would come to get me before they could finish the job. Olivia hooked her legs around my waist, straddling me. Again I wondered why it was always the nasty ones that would do that to me. I mean, the first time, the lady was trying to kill me. The second time, she had just knocked me out with a baseball bat. Now this one had just tied me to a chair - in the non-kinky way, too.

"And why is that?" The brown haired woman leaned forward, just out of reach of the Michael Headbutt.

"Because bad things happen. Green things."

There was laughter now, and a sharp slap whipped my head around.

"Oh, and are you the Incredible Hulk or something?" She roared with laughter, almost in stitches now. The Patriarch was similarly laughing.

Unnoticed by them, a small sprinkle of plaster dust fell from above, onto my knees. I looked up, at a hole in the ceiling. Orks were dangling from the hole above, waiting for me. It was traditional, for them, that the Warboss would start any engagement.

I had bought enough time.

"Nah. Oi'z jus' Da Big Boss..."

Sucking in a deep breath, I let out the largest roar I could manage. Orks were impressed simply because of my size difference. In normal scale, howeer, I couldn't manage enough volume nor spit to do it justice.

_**"**__**WAAAAAAAAAAGH!"**_

It started raining Orks.

- - - - -

"Thanks."

Morteus finished sawing through my bonds, and sheathed his chainsword.

"No problems, Michael. This Tyrannic taint had to be put to rest. You just happened to be in the way."

I chuckled, and looked at the two women, KO'd in the corner. The Orks had provided a good distraction for the Eldar and Imperial Psykers to pool their strength, and knock them out with a combined psychic attack.

"So they'll be alright?"

"Correct. When that woman went down, she landed on the Patriarch. That should clear any damage done... and possibly undo their memories. Ishabeth and Vasili are looking into that now."

"And what if this happens again?"

Sergeant Vinters chipped in this time, citing his experience during his stint with the Deathwatch.

"So long as we clear out all the other genestealers in this house, we'll have purged their taint... I have never known there to be more than one Genestealer Cult on any planet before, so this should be the only one on Earth. Also, there is only ever one... that would mean that there will never be another Genestealer infestation on Earth... well done, Michael."

I was almost glowing with pride. A Space Marine had just praised me.

"... thanks... I guess... "

I turned to Morteus. "Did you collect any rat's heads?"

"Yes, Michael. There was one. I have disposed of it, as you are no doubt to order me to."

"Nah. Keep it. Get someone to preserve it, so it doesn't stink, and so long as I can't smell it, you can keep it."

The Chaplain looked as if on the verge of tears. He pulled his skull helmet back on hurriedly.

"T-thank you, Michael."

I chuckled.

Zara was standing there, looking at me with her helmet on.

"I am glad you are mostly unharmed, mon-keigh." She stammered, and then hurriedly turned away to organize the purge of this house.

Inquisitor Danilov roared around on his Chimera, and shouted up.

"Are we declaring Exterminatus, Michael!?"

"NO!"

"Aww...."

I stood up, and hobbled over to the door.

"Alright, lets get back to work, everyone!"

_**And that's it for the chapter. I hope everyone's happy with the ending. XD**_

_**Well, just a few answers to questions I no doubt will be getting:**_

_**One: Normal humans right now have not been going off in the Warp just yet, so they haven't mutated their psyker genes to the point where the average human is susceptible to psychic gene-manipulation. Yes, Genestealers rape your genes. This is why Michael was needed by the Patriarch, rather than just any guy that they could get a hold of.**_

_**Two: This is probably going to be a one-shot. Don't expect Olivia and Jeanette to come around again.**_

_**Three: In case you're wondering; Jeanette Voleur. Voleur is French for 'Thief' or 'stealer. Jean-stealer. Olivia Walker is a name I picked at random. No intentional meaning behind it.**_


End file.
